


Wait Upon Mercy

by ncfan



Series: Legendarium Ladies April [34]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, POV Female Character, Tumblr: legendariumladiesapril, legendarium ladies april
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: We can deny our nature for a time, but not forever. (The conclusion of the story is not a fixed one.)





	Wait Upon Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April 9th, 2018 [poetry prompt](url), _Rain Towards Morning_ by Elizabeth Bishop. The full text of the poem is in the end note.

When the sinking sun touched the Nísimaldar, it turned everything to gold. The smooth waters of the Bay of Eldanna was like a great mirror. The leaves of the malinorni shone gold regardless of the time of year, and the silver trunks could not help but lose their color to the light. The whole sight was utterly unreal: gold light patterned with leafy shadows, and perfumed with sweet taniquelassë, sweet-sharp yavannamírë, and crisp lairelossë. Like something straight out of Aman, though the thought struck Írildë with a pang of wistfulness that burrowed deep into her chest.

There was a legend that had made its fond way into the heart of Andustari storytelling. Írildë had no idea how old it was. Everything in her said that it was no older than Númenor itself, but she had heard many say that the tale had existed, in one form or another, for as long as there had been life on this world capable of telling tales. It made Írildë wonder if perhaps she was not somewhat blinkered, herself.

But the tale went thusly:

Once, there was a man who loved a Maia of the Sea. This Maia was not Uinen; there are more female Sea Maiar than just Uinen, silly, or so the storyteller had reminded a very young Írildë when she had asked the question. There are more female Maiar living in the Great Sea than simply Uinen, young child; now hush, and let me tell the story.

Once, there was a man who loved a Maia of the great Sea. He spied her first while fishing on one of the great cliffs of the furthest reaches of the Hyarnustar. Far off, lying on the rocks, there was what he had first thought was a woman sunning, but then the sun emerged from behind its veil of clouds and she shone silver like a fish, the sunlight catching on her scales. He stared at her, mesmerized, only turning away when the Maia looked up, her starlit eyes catching his own. At that, he turned away, abashed. It was not for one such as him to gaze at one of the Ainur in such a fashion.

They encountered each other this way many times before they ever exchanged words. The man had been struck by her beauty, but had never approached the Maia, for such Maiar were as stormy as the Sea they hailed from, and he feared stepping wrong. But when they spoke, he found her kind and calm, and there was no trace of the Sea’s fury within her, only its grace.

Eventually, they fell in love, and resolved to live as man and wife. But they could not do this as they were. The man was of the land, and could not live in the Sea. The Maia was of the Sea, and as she was, could not be on land for long without suffering for it.

But the thing about Maiar is that they can change their forms, though some do this with greater ease than others, and as her kin could change their forms, so too could this Maia. She shed her skin of silver scales and adopted the appearance of a Núnatan. This way, she said, they could be together.

And so they lived together, and were happy, for a time. Love can be a balm for many things; certainly, the man lived in such a state of bliss that nothing could trouble him at all. Love can be a balm for many things, and it can help us forget our troubles, for a time. It can help us forget ourselves. For a time.

For a time, the Maia was happy living as a Núnatan woman. But as time wore on, her heart began to pine for the Sea, and the mortal skin she had adopted did not fit her well. It was small and constrictive, too solid and set for one such as her, and it chafed as would have a new, stiff leather boot. The Sea called to her, its voice growing louder and more insistent by the day.

She strove to hide it from her love, but she was withering, and there came a time when she had withered too much to hide. She was, after all, a Maia. She was far more spirit than flesh, and when the spirit suffered, it told quickly and harshly on the constructed body.

The man came to his love and begged her to tell him what was wrong. She did not answer, instead turning her sunken face to stare out the window of their home, towards the gray and rolling Sea. She did not speak at all that day.

The next morning, the man awoke to find the other side of his bed cold and empty. He never saw his love again.

Írildë let her eyes wander over the golden almost-sunset settling over the Nísimaldar. “We cannot escape our natures,” she muttered. But in her case, no matter how improbable it might be, she was hoping for another outcome.

-0-0-0-

The first meeting:

A great multitude of white-winged birds took flight suddenly from the Nísinen, setting the still waters to froth. The thousands of flapping wings were like a great storm of wind such as those that came out of the West. Feathers upon feathers floated down from the crystalline sky, little specks of white among the quivering shadows of the departing birds, and as Írildë watched those feathers drift down to earth, she caught the eye of a silver-haired man standing some distance away from her.

“You seem startled,” Írildë called out to him, noting as she did his starlit eyes and the smooth, well-made planes of his face.

“On the contrary,” he called back to her, in a voice like the clearest notes of a flute. “I was looking at you.”

-0-0-0-

We could all ignore our natures, for a time. The cat could ignore the reality of its predatory nature when seeking shelter from the rain with a family of ducks. The horse could forget its love of plant food if it was hungry enough, and begin to eye the animals around it in an entirely new light. Men could forget their brotherhood in the eyes of Ilúvatar and do violence against one another if greed or rage took hold of them.

And Írildë knew it to be more grace than Men or Elves had truly deserved, that the Valar had given the Elves of the Undying Lands leave to visit Númenor at all. That she and her own mismatched lover were allowed what it was they had was more grace than either of them had deserved. But if you were one of the Falmari and your heart cleaved to the western sea, there was only so long you could put that longing away before it began to gnaw on you anew.

Perhaps it wasn’t a better solution Írildë was hoping for. Merely a different one.

“As far as I know, the Ban is still in place.” He turned his gaze from her, eyes drifting west. A shadow of twin-sourced longing darkened his face. “There is no hope for you to be found in the West. Only ruin.”

“There are others who have made that journey successfully.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own—too calm, too wooden. “And I am of their blood. Is there truly no hope?”

“ _They_ …” He paused, laughed bitterly. “They were among the great, whereas we are _not_. The Ban will not be waived for the likes of us.”

“And what will happen to us, then, if we travel west?”

“There is…” Another pause, this one pregnant with an apprehension that bordered on fear. “Before the War of Wrath, many mariners among the Exiles came sailing west, seeking the aid of the Valar. Their ships drift still off the coast, and all their crews are locked in endless slumber.”

“That is what will become of us, then.”

“Most likely. It is certainly what will become of you. And perhaps—“ he drew a deep breath “—perhaps of me, for bringing you there.”

“And is slumber such a terrible fate?”

“…No.” He reached for her hand. His own trembled slightly. “It is not.”

Sleep, then, and wait upon the mercy of the Valar.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Rain Towards Morning_ by Elizabeth Bishop
> 
> The great light cage has broken up in the air,  
> freeing, I think, about a million birds  
> whose wild ascending shadows will not be back,  
> and all the wires come falling down.  
> No cage, no frightening birds; the rain  
> is brightening now. The face is pale  
> that tried the puzzle of their prison  
> and solved it with an unexpected kiss,  
> whose freckled unsuspected hands alit.
> 
>  **Andustar** —The western promontory of Númenor. The north of this region was rocky, with forests of fir trees on the coast. Andustar contained three small bays which all faced west, the most northern of which was the Bay of Andúnië. The south of the Andustar was fertile, and there were forests of birch, beech, oak and elm trees. Timber was this region’s main source of wealth.  
>  **Falmari** —those among the Teleri who completed the journey to Aman; the name is derived from the Quenya falma, '[crested] wave.'  
>  **Hyarnustar** —the southwestern promontory of Númenor; a fertile region home to vineyards and farmlands, though it becomes more mountainous in the extreme southwest part of the region; the beaches are of white sand and gray shingles  
>  **Lairelossë** —'summer-snow-white' (Quenya); one of the fragrant evergreen trees brought to Númenor by the Elves of Tol Eressëa  
>  **Malinorni** —the Quenya form of mellyrn (singular: malinornë) (Quenya). A tree which reaches massive heights, in appearance somewhat reminiscent of a beech tree. The malinornë has a trunk with smooth, silver bark; its leaves are in summer pale green above and silver below; in the autumn the leaves turn to pale gold rather than falling. The leaves instead fall in spring when the tree flowers; the flowers are golden blossoms that cluster like a cherry tree’s.  
>  **Nísimaldar** —'Fragrant Trees'; a region of Númenor in the Andustar, near Eldalondë, where many fragrant trees grew, such as oiolairë, lairelossë, vardarianna and yavannamírë. This was the only region in Númenor where mellyrn (known in Quenya as malinorni) trees would grow. The Elves of Tol Eressëa who visited Númenor were most fond of Eldalondë, a city located in this region.  
>  **Nísinen** —a lake formed from the river Nunduinë in the west of Númenor, near the Bay of Eldanna.  
>  **Núnatan** —‘Man of the West’ (Quenya) (plural: Núnatani); Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin ‘Dúnadan’, a term used to refer to the Númenóreans and their descendants.  
>  **Taniquelassë** —“High snow leaf” (Quenya); one of the fragrant evergreen trees brought to Númenor by the Elves of Tol Eressëa.  
>  **Yavannamírë** —'Jewel of Yavanna' (Quenya); a fragrant evergreen tree with globed scarlet fruit, brought to Númenor by the Elves of Tol Eressëa.


End file.
